


On Sex With the AntiChrist

by keep_waking_up



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Animal Ears, Crack, Cravings for Come, Feminization, M/M, Reverse Knotting, Sam 'Boy King of Hell' Winchester, Self Lubrication, Sex Magic, Sibling Incest, Wings, mentions of mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 18:56:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keep_waking_up/pseuds/keep_waking_up
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Turns out becoming Consort to the AntiChrist, who also happens to be your idiot kid brother, comes with some complications.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Sex With the AntiChrist

Once he becomes consort to the AntiChrist, some strange things begin to occur. Which is kinda a pain in the ass, because mustering up the courage to fuck around with Sammy in the first place had been hard enough for Dean without all this extra shit.

At first, he just ignores it, because Sam's got more important things to worry about, what with ruling the world and all that. But at some point, it gets kinda hard to brush under the rug.

Like when Sam sticks a finger up his ass and it kinda... squelches.

They both freeze and stare at each other. Then Sam reaches his other hand around and rubs at the puckered opening with wide eyes. "Dude. Are you wet?" Without waiting for a response, he sinks another finger in. "Oh my god, you are."

Sam's face is some sort of mix between awed and mildly disturbed. Neither emotion seems to be motivating Sam to do much besides sit there frozen, so Dean squirms on his lap and grumbles, "'M not a girl, man. Can't get wet."

"But you are," Sam insists and gives him a sharp prod with his fingers that may hit his prostate dean-on and may cause Dean to make a sound that may sound vaguely like a whimper. "How are you wet?"

The substance dripping from his ass that is definitely not coming from him does make Sam's fingers feel pretty damn good, so Dean does his best to discretely ride them. "Not wet, dude." Another small liquid noise contradicts his statement. "But if I was, it would be all your fault."

"My fault?" Sam narrows his eyes and finally gets with the program, scissoring his fingers and stroking Dean's inner walls. "You're the ones getting wet. How is it my fault?"

Gasping, Dean leans forward to bury his face in Sam's shoulder. This is good. Sex with Sam is always good, but holy shit. Maybe the stuff that is not coming from him has some sort of sex drug in it, because he is about a million times hornier than he thought he was. "You're the one with fucked powers and wings and shit."

Said wings ripple, black feathers brushing over Dean's back. Sam cannot seem to get his fill of fingering the slick liquid that is now dripping down Dean's thighs. "I don't know, Dean." Sam sounds kind of smug, in the worst way. "You're the one wet like a girl. Something you want to tell me?"

"You're the girl in this relationship, Samantha," he shoots back, although that doesn't come out right with four of Sam's fingers up his ass. And the fact that he's sort of maybe whining now like a bitch in heat. "I, uh..." He kind of loses his point as he pants and clenches around Sam's digits. "You're the freak, man. You're, uh, like... contaminating me or some shit."

"Mmm..." Sam hums, nuzzling at his throat. "You like it, Dean?"

Dean jerks back, almost toppling off Sam's lap. "The fuck, man?"

Sam's fingers twist and he cries out, grinding down hard. Sam laughes softly. "You do, don't you? You like my fingers in your ass. Getting all wet for me, practically begging for it. Wet like a little bitch." Wrapping his arm around his waist, Sam pulls him in closer. "Want it, don't you? Want my dick in your ass. No, you want my dick in your wet little pussy." They're breathing hard now, almost in sync. "Gonna give it to you baby. Gonna make you scream for it."

"Lamest dirty talk ever," Dean manages to gasp out. It's never good to encourage Sam when he gets into this sort of mine, mine, my Consort mood, because its not something Dean's fond of. Even if he does kinda of feel like he's burning up as Sam pushes up into the slick tightness of him and he is preoccupied with some moaning that, while loud, is definitely not screaming.

When its over, Sam sprawls over the bed like a beached whale. "So," he puffs, looking kind of contrite after all that shit he spewed. Dean's pretty sure he should be insulted, 'cause he heard some accusations of him being a cock slut and Sam's whore and other things he has no intentions of ever being. But he's pretty tired. "That was weird."

"Yeah, well." Dean yawns and then grimaces as some of Sam's come leaks out of him. "Still your fault."

The next time they're in bed, Dean shows no signs of getting wet. He's relieved. Mostly. And if any part of him is not relieved, it would just be because prep is kind of a bitch. Not because he liked lubing himself up like some girl. No siree.

Sam stretches across him to grab at the bottle of lube and brushes his nipple. Dean hisses. And goes suddenly, achingly hard.

They both pause and stare down at the rosy nub,

"Did you just-"

"Nope."

"Dean, I think you just-"

"It was nothing."

"But the way you-"

"No."

Then Sam decides to negate their argument by leaning down and sucking the bud in question into his mouth.

And its not Dean's fault if it feels like stimulation to the head of his cock and prostate all at once after hours of foreplay. So its not his fault if he comes instantly, screaming his throat hoarse.

Sam has lots of hun with that one and the next day his chest will be bruised and sore, but he's no longer so sensitive that a simple touch is enough to get him off. Five times in two hours.

"Milked yourself dry," Sam states with such smug self-satisfaction that Dean would kick his ass if he didn't feel all weak and boneless like some sort of used up sex kitten.

They have good old normal sex the next time. Sam uses too much lube and bites at his neck a lot while Dean tries to figure out if strangling his brother would get him to move any faster. Its all good and dandy, and did he mention normal, until Sam tries to pull out. And can't.

"Dean, let me the fuck out." Sam tugs back, only to elicit a wince from both of them. "How are you even holding me this tight?"

"I'm not!" Dean kicks and squirms, but he can feel his ass, wrapped tight around Sam's cock as if it never wants to let it go. "I'm not doing that on purpose, man."

When trying to forcefully remove it only ends with Sam yelling something about not twisting his dick off, they both settle down to wait it out. Dean knew there was a reason they didn't do post-sex cuddling, because staring at his brother with said brother's dick still up his ass is the epitome of awkward. A few minutes in, Sam taps his thigh. "I think you're reverse knotting me."

Well that's a load of gibberish. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Sam sighs, all put upon. "It's a... Well..." A flush starts to color his face and he huffs out an embarrassed. "You know what? Forget it."

"Whatever you say, man," he replies happily. Just because he is fucking his brother does not mean he wants to know all about Sam's bizarre sexual kinks.

A half an hour later, when they're finally disconnected, they struggle into their clothes as fast as they can before nearly running in opposite directions.

The next day, Dean goes to Hell's very own library. As if libraries weren't hell enough. He leaves four hours later covered in book dust, more than a little traumatized, and sure of exactly three things. Firstly, that Sam has some really disturbing taste in porn. Second, that this is all Sam's fault. Because, third...

He storms into the throne room and utterly disregards Sam's demon attendants as he points an accusing finger at Sam. "Your dick is trying to knock me up with your demonic ass babies!"

Sam has the decency to look somewhat embarrassed, although Dean's not sure if its because of the accusation or the circle of preschoolers looking on with interest. Clearing his throat, Sam rises. "If you could all, uh, leave us alone for a moment?"

Once everyone else is gone, Dean jabs his finger in the air pointedly. "Ass babies," he reiterates.

Sighing, Sam crosses to him. "I know, I figured it out last night. But its really not me, Dean."

"Sure it is! You're the one with the-"

"It's you."

Dean clears his throat and squints. "Say what?"

Ducking his head, Sam speaks to the ground. "As my, uh, Consort, your body is trying to do its, um, duty and... Damn it, your body is trying to give me an heir, okay!" By the end of Sam's little speech, both boys are a painful shade of red. Dean thinks he may never be able to look Sam in the eyes again. Sam doesn't make it any easier, continuing. "Its not a big deal, stuff like this might just kind of happen a few days a month, when you're most-"

He cuts himself off. Dean can't stand it. "Most what?"

"Most fertile," Sam blurts out and Dean could just die.

He nods his head like that makes any sense at all. "But its not like you can actually get me pregnant, so-"

"That's uh..." Sam's scratching the back of his neck, never a good sign. "I'm not... actually... sure about that..."

"So what you are saying," Dean begins in his slowest, most dangerous voice as he puts the pieces together, "is that your freaky AntiChrist jizz may or may not be able to knock me up and we've been having unprotected sex?"

Looking up -or down, really- through his bangs, Sam nods meekly. "Yes?"

After that, Sam sleeps on the metaphorical couch. Even as Hell's very own Prince, he's insufferably bitchy about it.

"C'mon Dean," Sam gripes on the fourth day of his banishment from their rooms. Someone should tell him that puppy dog looks don't work anymore when one is six foot four, twenty-five, and, oh yeah, the AntiChrist. "Its not that big a deal. I've been having some demons look into it and they're not even sure if you can conceive-"

"Ass babies, Sam." Dean cuts him off threateningly. "You risked getting me pregnant with ass babies."

Sam flinches before hurrying to keep up with Dean's angry stomping. "Can you stop calling them that?"

Stopping suddenly, he turns to stare quizzically at his brother. "What, ass babies?" Sam's mouth twists down into an ugly line and he glares. It begins to dawn on him. "Oh my god. You want them. You want to knock me up." The guilty look on Sam's face has him backing away. "Oh no." He waves his arms in front of him, warding the other off. "No way."

"Dean," Sam whines and moves closer. "Its not that big of a deal-"

Dean backs himself up against the wall, eyeing his brother like... well, like he'd threatened to make male pregnancy an actual thing. "Don't even," he warns, shaking his head. "The AntiChrist thing was bad. The incest thing was worse. The incestuous Consort thing was pushing the limits. My body rebelling and trying to produce demonic spawn is just about all I can take. You actually wanting our nonexistent, incestuous demonic spawn? That's a big fucking deal!" He's moments away from stomping his foot. "Aren't you supposed to be Mr. Normal anyways?"

Of course, now Sam has the indecency to look concerned, as if something was wrong with him. "Look, Dean, if you need some time to think about it-"

"I don't need time!" Dean is flailing now. This is just too much. "I need you to stop your freaky powers from making my body think it wants to pop out a couple of babies!" Before Sam can try to explain again why its not his fault (even though it clearly is), they're ambushed by a couple of Hellish administrators when dearly need Sam's attention and Dean manages to slip away.

That conversation cuts Sam off from sex for a month. Hell has some very bad days. And that's saying something because its, you know, hell. The AntiChrist apparently isn't a huge fan of his Consort refusing to put out. Dean's never had so many people interested in his sex life before. There'd never been a time before when he wished peopleweren't interested.

And then, one day, Dean wakes up practically salivating for come.

After fighting it for a grand total of five minutes, he curses his body the whole way to Sam's office. Everyone seems surprised to see him, considering he and Sam weren't exactly on speaking terms, what with the whole no-sex thing. He promptly kicks all the demons out before falling to his knees in front of Sam.

"Dean?" Sam's hands are tentative in his hair even as they nudge him towards the already growing bulge in his jeans.

"Still your fault," he grits out and sucks Sam's dick as far down his throat as he can take it.

It takes three days for his craving to wear off. He doesn't withhold sex again. He does insist on condoms.

He wakes up on a Tuesday the next month with tits.

Staring at himself in the mirror, he decides its not an attractive look. 'Cause its not like he's a girl (if he was a girl, he'd be pretty damn hot), he's just got these massive boobs. And a dick. He shakes his head. "This is fucking nuts."

When Sam comes looking for him a little while later, he's still in front of the mirror. Sam surveys him for a minute. "Well." He pauses, apparently unsure what exactly say when your brother-cum-Consort has sprouted boobs. "At least you still have your cock?"

"I don't get how these are supposed to help me make babies," he mutters, before dragging Sam back to bed in the hopes that a dick up his ass will cure him of breasts.

Its the fourth month that really sucks.

He wakes up at dawn, sobbing his brains out. He would've worried about getting a man-period or some other shit if he didn't know horrifically well exactly what the problem was.

Sam wakes up, blearily at first, then completely alert once he realizes something's wrong. "Dean?"

"Sammy." He can't stop the bubbling tears, the heaving breaths. "Sammy, Sammy. I really want babies."

The comforting hand on his back stills. "Dean?" The words is hopeful now and causes a whole new storm of hysterical crying.

Dean struggles to clarify, turning and burying himself in his brother's arms. "No, Sammy, its making me want babies." He's hyperventilating as he latches onto Sam's shoulders. "Want your babies."

"Dean." Sam's voice is filled with longing now and it rips a hole in his heart, much as he loathes to admit it. "Dean. Can we? Can we try? We don't even know if it'll work-"

"Don't." He can't hear anymore. Dean claps a hand over his brother's mouth. "Don't ask me. I'll say yes."

The words hover on the edge of Sam's tongue, he can tell, but fortunately he doesn't ask. Instead, he gets up and leaves Dean to sob in their bed for the rest of the day. And he'd thought the tits were bad.

The next day, Sam insists they sit down for a 'serious talk'.

Dean tries to brush it off. "Its just this thing, Sam. Just the same whammy that's been working on me since I first agreed to this whole Consort thing." He's still feeling pretty embarrassed about the wailing in bed like a girl thing, even if he knows it wasn't him. He really doesn't want to have to talk about it too.

"You were crying, Dean." Sam snaps and Dean knows he means business. "You were crying and I couldn't do anything."

They have a long, in depth discussion of their feelings, which means Sam rambles on about how he really wants Dean to produce AntiChrist babies with his nonexistent uterus and Dean kind of grunts and tries not to gag.

In the end, Dean puts down his foot. 'Cause he's kind of getting sick of the whole thing, honestly, and he just wants to fuck without all these complications. "I don't want kids, Sam." When Sam's eyes go all big and round, he crosses his arms. "At least I don't want kids now. So, why don't you try to figure out if its even possible, so we know for the future if that's what we decide, and in the meantime, figure out how to turn this damn thing off so we don't have to suffer through days like yesterday."

Sam considers him thoughtfully, a sort of pride to him. "That was... really well thought out, Dean."

"Yeah well." He scuffs his toe against the ground. "We both know where the real smarts in this family are."

Sam is so pleased with him and his ideas that he bends him over the great black desk and fucks him better than he has in weeks.

The next day, Dean wakes up with a tail and ears. Groaning, he buries his face back in the pillows. "For fuck's sake!"


End file.
